I frown. “For what?”
He doesn’t answer.
His eyes slide away and fix on the ceiling, on nothing.
His fingers don’t release mine, but they stop moving, holding on with the certainty that he’s allowed to.
I open my mouth to push him. To reassure him. To demand that he explain what the hell he is apologizing for, considering he just helped us take down a psychotic Shaman and nearly died doing it.
But his eyelids flutter. Once. Twice.
His chest rises and falls with the slow rhythm of someone losing the fight against sleep.
“Get some rest.” I squeeze his hand firmly, Grounding him. “That’s an order.”
His lips part like he wants to argue. Of course he does. But the words don’t come. His eyes close, the hard lines in his face softening as consciousness finally releases its grip.
I don’t let go of his hand.
Xander steps out from the surgical room. His shoulders sit easier than before.
“How’s Conan?” I ask.
“He’s still out cold, but Olcan doesn’t seem too worried. Thank Goddess.” He moves closer, studying Ethan’s face. “How is he?”
“Asleep. Finally.”
Xander nods once. “Olcan should be able to look at him soon. He’s closing up Conan’s wound now.”
Xander’s gaze drops to where my fingers are still laced through Ethan’s. His expression stays neutral, but a hint of recognition passes behind his eyes.
I don’t move. I won’t release Ethan’s hand.
The door to Stasio’s room creaks open before Xander can form whatever words he was building.
Haron steps through, her face pale but composed. Dark circles bruise the skin beneath her watery eyes, and her ivory hair hangs loose around her shoulders, tangled from hours spent at her father’s bedside.
“My brother is gone.” It’s not a question. Haron’s voice is flat, hollowed out by the kind of calm that only exists on the other side of grief.
“Yes.” Xander moves toward her calmly, each step deliberate. “I’m sorry.”
“I felt it,” she starts, her voice dropping. Then, quietly, “when...when our connection severed.”
I watch her carefully, searching her expression for grief, for rage, for blame.
She doesn’t cry or break down, but just continues to stand there in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she needs the stone to keep her upright.
“How is your father?” Xander asks.
“Better.” Haron draws herself upright, lifting her chin. “His magic has returned to him. He’s already getting stronger. Olcan believes he’ll wake within the day.”
“That’s good news,” Xander says.
“Yes, it is.” Her eyes drift to Ethan. To the crystal charm resting against his chest. “The human. Is he. . .?”
“He’s alive,” I say.
“Good.” Sincere relief threads through Haron’s voice.
